A/N: A bunch of RL sucked me away recently, but then this kinda just formed itself today, so I guess I've been released back into the wild?

The title of this incredibly short fic is because I've briefly mentioned, in an indirect way, all three things I've once listed as a personal version of Ron's Amortentia.

The sweet smell of well-used parchment wafted comfortingly past, a light breeze bending blades of dew-damp grass to tickle his freckled cheek.

Home had slowly become a much less simple concept. Once, it had been splintered wood walls, wool sock-worn carpets, the smell of his mum's cooking… But they no longer held an in-focus picture, now fading together with the things he couldn't say out loud - spiky wisps of jet black hair, an electric shock through limbs and holding on to blood-stained wrists, the richer scent of the thickly dust-laden books only found in the Hogwarts library's rarely traveled corners… the same aroma that lingered in her jumper sleeves, the feel of her ink-stained fingers, the sound of her voice.

He wanted to open his eyes, to see the things he felt before they slipped away. As sure as he was that they were real, he was sure that he could see them, vibrations from the distant sound of a wireless, weightlessness as he gained… altitude? He must be climbing higher, because the air no longer felt heavy with the rich and layered saturation of the living things that coloured it, closer to the ground - the tangled plants of an herb garden, tar and ash of a city centre, the chirping of birds and distant sounds of conversation…

Up here, the purity of oxygen made him feel more. He'd realised so many things, flying higher than where his mum would have approved, no longer looking back, no longer noticing how far he had gone. Up here, he'd admitted that the word he'd been looking for wasn't friend anymore. Not for her.

But he wasn't there at all, flying high above fields and forests. He was nowhere, and everywhere, all at once. He wanted desperately now to open his eyes, but something held him back. Some final moment…

So he waited.

At last, night falling and skin tingling from too many sips of mulled wine, the dark flavour of rum and cinnamon ran smoothly through him, and her eyes were the perfect shade, worn leather and the lightest dusting of freckles across the bridge of her pink nose.

And he finally opened his eyes.

White walls surrounded him, his left arm in a sling, and he was back.

Clarity rang as he recalled his mission, aware enough to be pleased, at least, that they'd caught the man they were after.

He was here, now: home. In a cold, sterile infirmary with two anxious people standing watch.

She wasn't quite careful enough, and she'd apologise many times for that later. But, right now, her arms flew around him, and he could feel a jolt of pain in his arm where she'd grabbed him just as clearly as he could feel her hot tears against the side of his neck… before she lifted her head again and blinked down at him with something like frustration.

Close by, the light from a too-bright lantern glinted blindingly for a moment in a pair of perfectly round spectacles over bright green eyes, narrowed slightly in a combination of worry and amusement. He held a slightly crumpled sheet of medical looking parchment in his left hand, brushing his shaggy black fringe back from his forehead with his right.

She shoved handfuls of chaotic curls away from her shoulders, and the whole world was coming back into focus. Clutching his sheets in her fists, she sighed heavily, trembling as she watched him, expectantly.

"Hey," he said scratchily, turning up the corner of his mouth as they laughed, relieved.